


The Hand That Feeds You

by destimushi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Apples of Idunn, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair Brushing, Hand Feeding, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Subspace, Thor gives electrifying blowjobs, Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/pseuds/destimushi
Summary: His fingers twirl inside Thor’s mouth, stroking and prodding his tongue, toying with it until saliva drips from the corners of Thor’s lips. Something else, a different kind of power, thrums through him, and electricity arcs along his skin for a different reason.“Thor, God of Thunder, King of Asgard,” Loki says with a tickle of mischievous fingers. “But you’re made to kneel for me, aren’t you? Mine to do with as I please, mine to ruin?”Thor's new powers surge through him with a single minded ambition: to destroy and conquer. He keeps it in check with a sheer power of will, but even his constitution begins to crack under the strain of raw thunder and the responsibilities of his new role as King of Asgard.The power of the Apple of Idunn helps, but it takes Thor some coaxing before he accepts.





	The Hand That Feeds You

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen into a Thorki hole and I cannot get out. Thanks to my lovely beta JhanaMay for checking this over!

Thor steps into his room and freezes.

The door hisses shut behind him and locks with the bindings of magic. Loki perches on the edge of Thor’s bed, eyes flashing with blue-green anger. Thor swallows despite himself.

“You have not eaten the apple.” His voice chills Thor, each syllable slithering against his skin.

It's the same argument every time, and a spark of irritation zaps across his skin. “It is not mine to have.” Thor squares his shoulders and strides toward the small table in the far corner of his modest bed chamber. He glances at the Apple of Idunn, its golden skin lush with the reminiscence of a sun that no longer exists. It calls him, ebony stem curving toward him in a seductive arc.

Thor ignores it. Instead, he reaches for the brass goblet and pours water from a pitcher. Not that he requires fluids to sustain himself, but doing something—anything—is better than subjecting himself to Loki’s pointed stare.   

“You’re the _king_ ,” Loki hisses.

“All Asgardians require the apples to maintain their livelihood.” Thor brings the goblet to his lips and pauses. “Let the children have them.”

“We have rationed for the children. There are plenty to keep them healthy until we reach Midgard.” Loki’s voice is soft, closer, and Thor’s grip tightens around the goblet. “Now, you need to eat your share.”

Thor is thankful for the cool water as he swallows. Loki presses into him, lithe body molding against his back. “The people should have it first,” Thor says. He manages to keep the tremor from his voice as cool fingers trace along his nape.

“How do you plan to rule, to _conquer_ , if you can barely maintain a spark on your fingertips?”

“I will not _conquer_ anyone.”

“Yes, yes. You will simply see to the safety of our people. Guard them against the big bad monsters and find Asgard a new home.” Loki’s fingers snake through Thor’s hair, nails scraping along the scalp.

Thor inhales sharply. “I will honour Father’s wish for peace through the realms.”

“You forget, Brother, it was Father’s blood-lust that led us to this sorry state.”

“He was young and foolish.”

“As are you,” Loki purrs, breath hot, yet it chills Thor to the bone.

Loki is correct. Thor can feel the brewing lightning beneath his skin, the sour surge of power hungering for battle, for bloodshed. For glory. He _needs._ Yet he must not, and the dichotomy chips at the edges of his sanity, frays them with sharp claws.

“How are you faring?” Loki’s voice loses its iciness, replaced by something akin to concern.

“It…” Thor wants to lie, wants to tell Loki he has a handle over his new powers. But he doesn’t. His body is tense, muscles twitching with effort. Just a moment of reprieve, a sliver of tranquility. It’s all he dares to hope for. “I can not control it, Loki.”

“Oh?” Strong fingers card through his hair. Thor loathes the shortness, longs for the time when Loki could run his fingers through Thor’s hair for eternity, long fingers tangled in the soft, golden locks.

“It strikes when I am distracted. As if it hungers for—”

“For power,” Loki finishes with a chuckle. Thor can almost taste the bitterness in the air. “I am familiar with that feeling.”

“It’s worse when I am tired.” Thor sags against Loki, trusts his brother’s slender form will catch his bulk. “Exhaustion threatens to consume me, Brother. I nearly struck a child playing in the ship’s hall today. I’m afraid I’ll—”  

“Shh, let me,” Loki says with a nip to Thor’s earlobe. He hooks a foot around the leg of the small chair next to the table and pulls it between them. With firm hands, he settles Thor on the hard metal seat, and a brush materializes out of the thin air above Loki’s outstretched palm.

Thor’s mouth dries, and all thoughts of exhaustion evaporate. He knows the intricate carvings on the silver handle, remembers the gentle bite of the bristles with a surge of affection. It was their mother’s before she gifted it to Loki.  

Loki spent countless nights running that brush through Thor’s hair, always tangled from training and horsing around. Those were times Thor cherished, clutched to him with desperate hands when the days grew dark and the nights turned frigid.

“You still have it.”

“Of course. Now, hush.” Loki pulls Thor toward him until his back rests against Loki’s thighs.

The first kiss of the brush sends a rolling shiver through him, over his shoulders, down his arms, and tension drips from his fingertips. The last time Loki brushed his hair—before his perfect world crumbled to dust—they had lain together after and shared sweet rapture cloaked by the stars.

Despite his fatigue, Thor’s body reacts to the memory, and his trousers shrink into painful bindings. Loki chuckles as he runs the brush from the edge of Thor’s temple. It does not cling like it used to, there simply is not enough hair, but the familiar stroke of Loki’s fingers eases Thor’s mind, and his eyes flutter shut.   

The thrum of lightning is still there, forever prickling, seeking escape, but it’s calmer, not so jagged like broken glass beneath his skin. With each gentle stroke, tension oozes out of him, releases his muscles until his head lolls forward. Until his mind is clear of thunderclouds and replaced by the red haze of arousal.

Thor licks his lips, and a crackle of lightning arcs from the tip of his tongue as he takes a shaky breath. They have been traveling in the confines of the Sakaarian ship for two weeks now, and he’s sought Loki’s help to tame his thunderous powers on more than a few occasions. Loki is different; gone are his devious and underhanded ways. Instead, he’s firm and grounded, and he takes Thor into a headspace that quiets the demons.

No more reluctant suspicion, only serenity and a singular focus. Focus Thor desperately needs as his body seeks release from the stress of his new role as the unwilling King of Asgard.

The brush glides effortlessly through Thor’s short cropped hair, tickles his scalp, and Loki whispers words laced with powers beyond Thor’s understanding. They sooth him, drag him beneath the surface of something cool and light as air, and there, Thor suspends until his limbs turn to clay and his chest loosens.

“Kneel for me, Brother.” Loki’s voice is muffled, as if Thor is under water.

The stool disappears from beneath him, and his knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Thor looks up through his lashes, watches Loki take a seat, body fluid, graceful.

“Do you trust me?” Loki caresses Thor’s cheek with cool fingers, but the look in his eyes is as scorching as the sun.

“With my life.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

Thor smiles and leans his cheek against Loki’s leather-clad thigh. “I know, and yet I do. You belong with me, Loki, and I you.”

“You’re a fool,” Loki says, and looks away for a heartbeat before continuing, “If you trust me, then heed my words. Eat the apple.” Thor tenses, but Loki’s fingers scratch along his scalp, chasing away the tension before it takes root. “The people need you to be strong. To be the god they know you can be. You cannot control your powers if you are weakened.”

Loki speaks reason. Sitting on a throne he never wanted drains him. Dealing with the daily quarrels of a proud race locked in a metal cage tests his constitution until he’s brittle enough to snap. The moment he does, the power surging through him will rip through the ship and doom them all.

A small piece of golden apple appears in front of him, and Thor’s lips part without prompt. His body sings with desire, and his blood boils with a burst of energy as the ripe fruit touches his tongue. It’s sweet like nectar, fragrant like a summer breeze, and Thor moans as he sits back on his heels.

Sweet juice coats his mouth, slides down his throat, and every grind of crisp flesh between his teeth is a fresh burst of euphoria. Thor shivers, and when the next piece appears before him, he lunges for it.

Loki’s fingertips linger, sweep along Thor’s bottom lip, and Thor opens his good eye and stares at Loki’s slender hand. The skin is marred, littered with scars from years of training, years of accidents as he sought to perfect his grasp on magic. He leans forward, forgets the bite of fruit, and dots feather kisses along each scar. He knows every one by heart, has traced them countless times while lying beneath the shade of wizened old trees.

A hiss of breath from above distracts him, and Thor grins against the supple flesh of Loki’s hand. Loki is so guarded—a perfect mask of composure when he wants to be—that it warms Thor to know he can slip behind that mask occasionally and surprise the God of Mischief. Thor takes a finger between his lips and tongues the calloused pad before Loki pulls his hand away to bring down another bite of the golden apple.

Thor sighs and accepts and behaves exactly as Loki expects him to until the whole apple is gone. Golden threads of power wind through his body, wrap around the cloud of thunder, and trap the roiling, destructive power. Thor breathes out a slow stream of air, and a weight lifts from his chest. It feels good to relax, his body turning lax while the powers of the fruit tames his bloodlust.

Until next time.

“Shh,” Loki murmurs and pushes two fingers past Thor’s lips to brush against his tongue. Thor looks up, startled, and Loki’s weight gaze pins him to the floor. “You’re thinking too hard.”

His fingers twirl inside Thor’s mouth, stroking and prodding his tongue, toying with it until saliva drips from the corners of Thor’s lips. Something else, a different kind of power, thrums through him, and electricity arcs along his skin for a different reason.

“Thor, God of Thunder, King of Asgard,” Loki says with a tickle of mischievous fingers. “But you’re made to kneel for me, aren’t you? Mine to do with as I please, mine to ruin?”

Thor nods, limbs growing heavier as he sinks lower; he is Loki’s in body and soul. Loki’s fingers explore his mouth with a level of possessiveness that takes Thor’s breath away, and Thor would not have it any other way. He inches closer, and Loki shifts until Thor’s tucked between his spread thighs.

“What is it you desire, Brother?” Loki thrusts three fingers into Thor’s mouth and toys with Thor’s tongue in absent-minded leisure. Thor nudges along Loki’s thigh, inching forward until his nose presses against the bulge at the junction of Loki’s thighs.

When Loki’s cock finally lodges down Thor’s throat, his mind quiets. He forgets, for a moment, the destruction of his home and the uncertain fate of his people. Nothing matters as Loki’s hands wrap around his head and pull him close, and Thor closes his eye to relish in the moment.

The King of Asgard does not get to give up control often, except in his chambers as Loki breaks him into pieces. Eventually, Loki will put him back together, straighten his tunic and chastise him for some small perceived slight, but for the next few precious moments, Thor simply _feels_ _._

Loki’s hips snap up, cock pushing down Thor’s throat like a promise. A declaration that Thor is his. The tiny surge of power tickles Thor’s tongue, and he relaxes his throat as his mouth buzzes with electricity. The first time Thor’s mouth sparked like this, Loki shouted his pleasures loud enough for the entire ship to hear.

A soft gasp, a muffled groan, and the table scrapes along the floor as it shoots across the room and crashes into the far wall. Thor grins around the girth in his mouth and bobs his head up and down in earnest. Loki grips his hair and tugs the strands until Thor’s vision blurs with tears. But the pain is fuzzy around the edges, soft and grounding as power surges from his tongue and mouth into Loki’s straining arousal.

Loki curses and grips a fistful of Thor’s hair, shoving Thor off his pulsing erection with a growl. The first rope of release splashes across Thor’s cheek, and he opens his mouth, lets Loki use him even as his own neglected need strains against the confines of his trousers.    

His own pleasure doesn’t matter when he’s kneeling at Loki’s feet like this, but Thor wonders whether Loki will let him find release, or send him back to Heimdall pent up but under control. Thor isn’t sure which he wants more, but what he wants doesn’t matter either. Loki will decide for him, and it will be as liberating as the first day he held Mjölnir.

    


End file.
